


Fuck My Label. Fuck My Ex-Husband. And Fuck Deacon Claybourne.

by dickovny



Category: Nashville (TV)
Genre: F/F, Oral Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-12
Updated: 2013-08-12
Packaged: 2017-12-23 05:25:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,355
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/922530
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dickovny/pseuds/dickovny
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It didn't relieve any of her annoyance that Juliette was being, well, normal. Not the peroxide drama on legs that Rayna really wanted right now to take her mind off of things. Talking about her feelings – shit, having feelings. Feelings that ranged from 'fuck my label' to 'fuck my exhusband' to 'fuck Deacon fucking Claybourne.' Three feelings that Rayna was familiar with inside and out. Rather acutely as of late.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fuck My Label. Fuck My Ex-Husband. And Fuck Deacon Claybourne.

She wasn't quite sure just what had possessed her to make the offer, but it hung heavy in the air.  
“ _I could always just sign you to my label_.”  
  
She wasn't quite sure just what had possessed her to invite Juliette Barnes to her hotel room either. Nor was she quite really totally sure what had possessed her to send a text to Deacon Fucking Claybourne minutes prior, telling him just where he can go tonight [hint: definitely not her hotel room, certainly not her bed, and most likely a little something like straight to hell.] She'd say she wasn't sure what possessed her to say what she did to her son-of-a-bitch ~~husband~~ ~~ex-husband~~ ~~husband~~ soon to be ex-husband just a few minutes before that, but, truthfully, she really was quite sure of that one.  
  
 _Those_ choice words rolled right off her tongue because Teddy Conrad is a cheating, lying, whore-mouthed, shit-eating piece of crap that she would sooner see hit by a Greyhound bus than ever enjoy the pleasures of a woman's company again.  
  
Though she wasn't entirely aware of just exactly what it was, Rayna Jaymes could be _pretty_ fucking certain that there was some sort of linear quality to her evening. A path, if you will, leading from point a to point b straight on through to points x y and z - starting with telling both the men in her life to stick it where the sun don't shine and ending with Juliette freaking Barnes in a conspicuously casual tee shirt and jeans sprawled angrily on one of the couches in her hotel room at a quarter past midnight.  
  
Hell, the little bitch almost looked human.  
  
She wasn't even going to send the text that brought her up here in the first place, asking her if she'd like to come "discuss business". She hadn't gotten the hang of her new phone yet and she often slipped up and pressed the wrong damn thing. It was like having a goddamned laptop strapped to her ass.  
  
It didn't relieve any of her annoyance that Juliette was being, well, _normal_. Not the peroxide drama on legs that Rayna really wanted right now to take her mind off of things. Talking about her feelings – shit, _having_ feelings. Feelings that ranged from 'fuck my label' to 'fuck my exhusband' to 'fuck Deacon fucking Claybourne.' Three feelings that Rayna was familiar with inside and out. Rather acutely as of late. The similarities made her sympathetic and as much as she wanted her to burn in a five-alarm fire from Satan, she really did kind of like the little shit-heel in stilettos. So one thing lead to another and the offer just kind of. Well. Fell out?  
  
Yes, in a strange ham-fisted attempt at some _Divine Secrets of the Nashville Sisterhood_ bullshit, the great and powerful Rayna Jaymes looked the blonde poptart directly in the eyes and said with completely sincerity:  
  
“ _I could always just sign you to my label_.”  
  
The little demon spawn's head turned so fast Rayna worried Juliette might give herself whiplash.   
  
“You could _what_?”  
  
Well shit. Rayna was really hoping she would've scoffed, thrust her cute little nose in the air and walked her proud ass right out that door. No such luck. Not that she didn't want to genuinely help her. She just had grown to enjoy their simmering mutual disgust.  
  
“I could sign you to my label. Give you complete creative control over your material. Look, as much as it makes me vomit in my throat a little to say it, you are talented. Pretty. The drive of a freight train when you want something. And worth a shit-ton of money. Honest to God, you deserve better than what that label of yours is tryin' to do to you.”  
  
“You really think so?” Juliette stood up, motioning at Rayna's now empty beer bottle while picking up her own. “ 'nother beer?”  
  
“Yes, please. And damn fucking right I do!” She got up to follow Juliette to the fridge, and despite her best intentions found herself gawking at the sway of her hips in her tight blue jeans and the way she ran her fingers through her thick blonde hair. Juliette made it look so effortless, and for a moment Rayna thought she might understand what it felt like to be one of those boy-shaped husks Juliette leaves parched on the side of the road all the time.  
  
She leaned in the doorway to the kitchenette while Juliette bent into the open fridge, staring at the ceiling to avoid staring at her perky little ass. Miss Barnes's bottom was causing a heated internal debate between Rayna's moral code, her bile duct, the juncture between her legs, and her perpetually neglected wild streak.  
  
"They try to box you in by telling you that you won't last, you've got to worry about your 'target audience', try to scare you into thinkin' you can only be what they want you to be. You've got potential, and they know it."  
  
“Well, if you don't mind me sayin', I think you deserve better too,” she said, voice half-lost behind a gallon of milk and some orange juice.  
  
“Excuse me?”  
  
She lifted her head out of the fridge and turned to look at Rayna, face pink with the cold, and shut the fridge behind her, laying her back against the closed door. She casually raised the bottle to her mouth, staring Rayna directly in the goddamned eyes like some sort of dare, and slipped the top between her lips, opening the bottle with her teeth before spitting the cap on the floor.  
  
Rayna swallowed for a moment, looked to the ceiling for strength or a sign from God or Dolly Parton to still her suddenly flip-flopping heart, before stammering, “Where in the hell did you learn that little trick?”  
  
“It's a long story, and a not too flattering one. That's beside the point, Rayna. Face it. Your husband, your label, and Deacon all treat you like ass. They treat you like you're done. That's it. You've past your prime. Time to take the old girl out back and give her a Christmas album, maybe a feature or two on some hot little new girl's tracks, and let her down gently. Shit, the other night my manager suggested you stop wearing such short skirts on stage.”   
  
Juliette took several large gulps from her bottle, before slamming it onto the counter next to her.  
  
“I think covering those legs up would be a sin against God himself and I think that trying to come between you and all that new material you're pumping out with Liam is a goddamned tragedy and I think that ain't nobody's seen jackshit from you yet and that you are capable of so. much. fucking. more. And I would like to know what the great Rayna _fucking_ Jaymes is going to do about it!”  
  
For a brief moment, Rayna Jaymes was clinging to one last teeny tiny shred of sanity and composure, and her grip on that little shred held pretty well - up until that last little tirade and until she noticed that scarlet hue rising in Juliette's cheeks and the way she kind of bit her lip when she was really - genuinely passionately - fucking pissed off and _oh to hell with this shit_.  
  
Rayna took a few quick steps and before she could say 'Hallelujah' was suddenly sliding her lips against a pair that belonged to Juliette Barnes and _Holy Mother of Jesus H. Fucking Christ_ did it feel good. Juliette moaned softly into her mouth before sliding a hand down to grab Rayna's ass. Now, Rayna Jaymes was a woman who tried her damnedest to avoid hyperbole, but right now she reckoned she was having some sort of spiritual experience via Juliette's prodigious tongue dexterity as it slid against her own. Rayna had kissed, quite frankly, a large amount of people in her lifetime, larger than she would ever admit to her daughters, and Juliette Barnes was without a doubt the single best lip-locker in the 48 contiguous United States. [Rayna had been to Hawaii once, but didn't kiss anyone there. Go figure.] And something about the feel of her body writhing between Rayna's and the fridge made her incredibly fucking turned on.  
  
Not usually the one driving the proverbial sexual car, Rayna was surprised when she found her hands roving across the young woman's toned abdomen and absolutely wonderful tits, and even more shocked when she found her thigh pressing insistently between Juliette's legs.   
  
“Ray – Rayna - Rayna stop for a sec.”  
  
She backed away quickly, afraid she had breached some strange unspeakable woman code in her intensity.   
  
“Wow – shit – sorry – should I not - ”  
  
“No you're fine – I just -” Juliette pulled her t-shirt over her head and dropped it on the floor. Rayna found her neon pink bra hideous and tasteless and tacky but it made her stomach leap up into her throat and her heart fall out of her butt despite her better judgement. Juliette's hair stuck up at odd angles and her face was flushed as she smiled mischievously. "Bed?”  
  
Rayna made a vague whimper of agreement as Juliette took her hand and stepped in front of her, leading her to the bedroom. Rayna said a quick prayer thanking the Lord our Father for the extra bit of time he spent crafting the small of Juliette's back and for letting her look at it naked from this close up. By the time they made it to the bedroom, she couldn't _not_ touch it, and she pushed Juliette forward onto the bed, forcing her onto all fours, roughly tugging her jeans down her hips.  
  
She had seen the Grand Canyon and she had been to Yellowstone Park and she had even seen those giant-ass old redwood trees out on the west coast but Rayna had never seen anything like the curvature of Juliette's ass in a pair of pink cotton boyshort panties. Another quick word to the powers that be and Rayna began massaging, kneading, groping. She roughly dragged her fingernails down her thighs, eliciting a gasp.   
  
“Rayna?"  
  
"Yeah, Juliette?" Rayna could hear the arousal in her voice, that building urge, that want to scream for your partner to either stop or go, to just fucking _do_ something.  
  
"Please- please fuck me.”   
  
_Bingo._  
  
 _There it is._  
  
With no time to waste, Rayna had those pink panties around Juliette's knees, and was working two spit-slicked fingers into her cunt. Juliette gasped and pushed back for more. She pulled out slowly, before sliding back in at the same excruciating speed. Teasing her, Juliette Barnes, the girl who teases every man in her way and then some, gave Rayna a thrill like you would not believe. The more Juliette wiggled back, the more Rayna withheld.  
  
“Fucking Jesus Christ more - _please_ \- God, Rayna.”  
  
Thoughtlessly, Rayna removed her hand [to a petulant whine from Juliette] and pulled her sweater over her head before quickly wriggling out of her jeans, getting down on her knees, and firmly grabbing Juliette by the hips and pulling her cunt backwards to her mouth. She shrieked in surprise, throwing her hair back and shouting in the air as Rayna's mouth found her clit and her fingers found her cunt again. Juliette ground against her face and moaned loud enough to make Rayna wonder just how far away Deacon's room was tonight, and she vaguely hoped he heard her. Son of a _bitch_. In a moment of sudden devilish inspiration, Rayna raised her free hand and used it to smack Juliette's ass. She dropped her face into the blanket shouting, entire body tensing as she came around Rayna's fingers.   
  
Rayna gently dragged her nails against her ass, as she panted into the comforter.   
  
"God you're fucking _loud_."  
  
“Not my fault you fuck so well. I mean, well enough anyway.”  
  
"What's that supposed to mean? You're the one screaming loud enough the whole hotel can hear."  
  
"Yeah, let's see how quiet you are. Your turn."  
  
“Excuse me? What do you mean 'my turn'?”  
  
“I mean it's your fucking turn, get on this goddamn bed before I _drag_ you down,” Juliette laughed, rolling onto her back. Rayna crawled on top of her, kissing her and giggling into her lips.   
  
"Why am I the only one naked? Don't tell me you're shy or somethin'"  
  
"There ain't a modest bone in my body you little shit," Rayna said rising, unhooking her black lace bra and shimmying it down her arms. Juliette grabbed for her underwear and pulled it over her ass, giving it a playful smack.  
  
"You better _watch_ those hands."  
  
“The matching black thong is a bit much, don't you think? Get on your fucking back,” Juliette said, hooking her legs around Rayna's, playfully pushing her over on her side and rolling on top. Juliette bent down, licking her throat all the way up her jaw and to her ear. "Let's see who's _fucking loud_ now," she whispered, before rotating and straddling Rayna's face. Before she could say a word, Juliette had her hands around Rayna's thighs, spreading her legs, lowering her mouth to taste her. Determined not to lose their impromptu contest, Rayna grabbed Juliette's hips and brought her down to her mouth once more, using her cunt to stifle her own moans.  
  
She was determined not to let Juliette win, to make Juliette cum before she did, but she was destined to lose, already arching upward, spreading her legs just a _little_ bit further every second. For a small eternity, neither spoke with the exception of moans and various incoherent shouts, hips grinding against each other's faces, but Rayna was the first to cum, thighs twitching and abdomen tensing, focusing intently on making sure Juliette followed shortly, tremors and all, both women using the other to buffer their shouts.  
  
They stayed completely still for a moment, Juliette's head on Rayna's thighs, resting and panting, bodies glistening with sweat, hair in damp tangles.   
  
“Get the hell off me, tramp,” Rayna wheezed, and Juliette rolled over onto her side, snorting with laughter.   
  
“Did I earn my record deal, baby?”


End file.
